Shakedown

Not only did we leave on the hundredth anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic, but we left on a Friday, which is completely taboo in the ultra superstitious world a sailor inhabits. Really outdoing ourselves, in this case, we departed on Friday the 13th. Our friend who saw us off from his long and blustery pier suggested, that, as Julep was largely untested under current ownership, that this first day would be just a trial run, a shakedown. We were underway all day, as off in the distance those glaring white sea birds called gannets dive bombed into shallow Chesapeake waters, firing off little watery explosions now and then all along the surface of the Bay.

The first night we spent anchored in a pleasant upscale neighborhood inlet, and first morning found us out on the main watery passages and heading north for the first time. As I write this, we are still going, past the cheerily stalwart freestanding lighthouses, past someone's deflated foil birthday balloon, past tugs keeping barges about their business and now, in the dark, the astonished lighted suburbia of a cruise ship, stacked and glittering a few miles away. It was naive of me to think that I would read on this trip, or even tell you all that I wanted to in these snaking lines. There is nothing to do, nothing that can be done but sail and navigate and remark upon the most trivial things and the most crucial ones.

We are small little things out here, dreaming of our beautiful friends and the excitement that awaits us, dreaming each moment into being, and continually astonished by the suddenness of living in the great unknown.